


the most dangerous creation is a man who has nothing left to lose

by teacuphuman



Series: the most dangerous of men [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Miscommunication, Restraints, Satin Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Bane sends for John.





	the most dangerous creation is a man who has nothing left to lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/gifts).



> Written for Oceaxe, beta'd by youcantsaymylastname. It's a day late and a dollar short where the prompt of John in lace panties is concerned, but I did my best!
> 
> This fic is also part three of my 'the most dangerous of men' series, though I don't think you need to have read the first two to enjoy this one.

Bane’s shadow cuts away what’s left of John’s pants, stepping back and raising a questioning eyebrow.

 

“Fuck you,” John spits, hating the flush he can feel creeping over his chest and neck. 

 

The man smirks and walks out, closing the door quietly behind him. John pulls against the ropes around his wrists, only able to move a few inches from where they’re held aloft above his head, his elbows bent to follow the line of his bare shoulders. The strap around his neck cuts off his breathing when he tries to crane his head to dislodge the strip of shredded fabric that covers his eyes. All he can see is a small strip of light where the cloth gapes on one side of his nose. 

 

He’s in an attic, if the amount of stairs they brought him up is anything to go by, but whether or not this is the location of Bane’s secret lair remains to be seen. The man is like smoke, appearing and disappearing with the same quiet unpredictability, and the resistance hasn’t been able to get a lock on where he goes in his off hours. John’s pretty sure it’s because Bane doesn’t have off hours, unless the ones he spends with John count, which he’s decided they don’t. 

 

The restraints are new, but John knows he doesn’t really get a say in these sorts of things. For the most part, Bane does what he wants with him, but John’s quickly getting to the point where he can no longer lie and tell himself survival is what keeps him from protesting. 

 

Bane’s steps are heavy on the stairs, and John’s been around him enough to know that he can only hear them because Bane wants him to. Maybe it’s supposed to bring out his fear, get his breath to shorten and his pulse to quicken. Or maybe Bane wants him to feel anticipation. So that John’s lips are wet and his cock is hard by the time Bane reaches the top of the stairs. It doesn’t really matter, because John’s body stopped reacting like it’s supposed to after their first time in the warehouse.

 

The door opens and John feels a brush of cool air across his bare skin. Bane’s mask is terrifying and loud after the long silence, but John wants to feel the bite of it on his skin. The door closes and John shifts, bracing his weight evenly in case Bane decides to hit him. There has to be a reason for John being tied up, and Bane prefers to answer questions with action. 

 

John can see the toe of Bane’s boot when he looks down through the gap in the blindfold. Bane is silent and still, presumably taking his time to study him. John feels the flush spread over his skin again and clears his throat, wanting to explain.

 

“It’s laundry day,” he starts, throat going dry when Bane rips off the blindfold. John blinks into the dim light, conscious of the way Bane’s breath is coming quick and heavy through the mask.

 

“You refused me.”

 

John opens his mouth, then closes it with a click, unsure of what Bane wants him to say. 

 

“You have broken our agreement, Robin John Blake.” Bane has never looked more dangerous to him than he does right now, but there’s something else there, too. Something in his eyes that John can’t quite place.

 

“Like hell I did,” John spits, anger taking over the arousal that’s been thrumming through his body since Barsad pulled him off the street.

 

Bane’s hands curl into fists and he takes a step forward into John’s space, the heat of his considerable bulk making John strain against the ropes. “You deny that you refused my invitation when I called on you three nights ago?”

 

John lets out a breath and slumps against the post he’s tied to. “I got caught by Crane’s men three days ago,” he explains. “They picked me up while I was...out,” John evades. He and Bane don’t share information and he’s not about to let anything slip. 

 

“You escaped,” Bane mumbles, and if John didn’t know better, he’d think Bane sounds proud.

 

“Took out Bobby Hanes’ right eye on my way out,” John tells him, his fingers curling against his palms. His arms are starting to go numb.

 

“Mr. Hanes neglected to disclose how he was wounded. Now I understand why.” Bane steps back, taking his heat with him and John has to stop himself from chasing it with his body. “Every day you move towards taking another life, Robin.”

 

“I’m doing what I have to to survive, isn’t that what you told me to do?”

 

“I told you to help the children,” Bane says simply.

 

“I can’t do that if I’m locked in some basement, being tortured. Or if I’m forced out onto the ice. I’m a cop, remember? Enemy number one. Thanks to you.” 

 

“I did not force you into joining the police,” Bane teases in a light voice. The voice he knows makes John want to fight back.

 

“I’m not going to stand here and argue semantics with you,” John tells him, shaking his head as much as he can. “Either use me or let me go.”

 

Bane’s face goes dark, his eyes narrowing. “Use you. Is that what you think happens between us?”

 

“All part of the agreement,” John counters, starting to shake from the cold.

 

“Little bird, you are in a dangerous mood.” Bane trails his index finger down John’s chest, firm and calloused, until he gets to John’s navel. He presses in, making John squirm away. “Is that why you’ve adorned yourself for me?”

 

“It’s not for you,” he gasps as Bane’s hand rubs over the satin covering John’s rapidly filling cock.

 

“Hmm?” Bane raises an eyebrow and kneads between John’s legs, fingers slipping on the smooth fabric.

 

“I don’t, it’s not for you.” John’s feeling warmer now, his skin buzzing with every one of Bane’s unyielding touches.

 

“Explain.”

 

John swallows thickly. His cock is fully hard now and Bane’s gripping him just the wrong side of painful through the black panties. They’re one of his favourites, and he can’t deny that part of him wanted today to be a day Bane would want him, but that’s still not why he wears them. He can’t speak, can’t exist beyond Bane’s interest and his own shame right now.

 

“There are few comforts left in Gotham,” Bane says quietly. “Perhaps these are your comfort.”

 

John nods, eyes squeezed shut, too afraid to read the reaction in Bane’s expressive eyes.

 

“I know little of the comforts of men, Robin, but I too understand the desire to be touched by something pure and unspoiled.”

 

There a fondness in Bane’s words, in the quiet whisper of his voice, that makes John open his eyes. Bane isn’t looking at his face, though, he’s staring down at where the head of John’s cock is peaking out over the top of the panties. He brushes blunt fingers over the bows on either side of John’s hips, the ones that feel like they’re the only thing holding him together. 

 

His boots are on, but Bane still towers over him, bending low to breath against John’s neck, his hands exploring the skin bared to him. Bane always seems so hungry to touch, mapping out John’s skin like he’s committing it to memory, as though every time might be the last time he gets to indulge. And it may be, John thinks. The bomb is still in play and he knows Bane has no intention of making it out alive.

 

“Do you like it?” John asks, biting his lip and kicking off his boots. Bane is hot and here, and John aches to be held.

 

“I do,” Bane muses, letting John hook a leg over his hip. 

 

“You sound surprised,” John huffs, flexing his thighs and trying to work both legs around Bane’s waist.

 

“I’ve never had anything as soft as you, Robin.” There’s a smile in his voice, like he’s indulging John’s vanity. “Nor anything as unyielding.” 

 

He finally slips his hands under John’s legs, settling him into place and pressing him against the post. John wishes his hands were free so he could touch Bane, but there’s a kind of helpless thrill from being restrained that he never thought he’d enjoy. He wants to tell Bane that he’s just the same as he claims John is, tender, but immobile. Gentle and demanding. 

 

“Will you fuck me?” John asks, trying to rub himself against Bane’s stomach. It should be embarrassing, how quickly he goes from angry to desperate, but when Bane’s hands are on him, in him, John can’t find room to care.

 

“Is that what you desire, little bird? It would be unrelenting like this with nowhere for you to go.”

 

John huffs out a laugh. “There’s nowhere I could go that you wouldn’t find me.”

 

“Nowhere I wouldn’t follow,” Bane says quietly, pressing the mask into John’s neck. 

 

John shudders, a quiet sob torn out of him when Bane’s fingers slip under the satin and press against his hole. His touch is firm, unrelentingly and constant until John starts to squirm, arching away from the dry slide of Bane’s ministrations.

 

“I would harm you,” Bane tells him, his breath a fraction faster than normal as he holds John in place. 

 

“I like it when you harm me,” John insists, unable to hold back a wince when Bane sinks one finger in as far as it will go. 

 

Bane chuckles. “You would not enjoy it like this,” he pulls out slowly, curving his hand over the swell of John’s ass instead. “Next time.”

 

“You said that the first time,” John pants, angling his hips forward so he can drag his cock along the hard planes of Bane’s stomach. “What are you afraid of?”

 

Bane growls, his body going rigid and unresponsive, and just like that, he’s not the man John knows. He’s the monster. The terror that haunts the streets of Gotham and chokes the life out of its people. He’s the villain in the story of John’s life and there’s nothing John can do but wait and see what Bane is going to do to him. It sends a sickening thrill up his spine, but he’s gotten really good at ignoring those, instead focusing on the silent power that’s coiled in every one of Bane’s movements, whether they be soft or sharp.

 

John stares up at him, refusing to look away even as Bane’s eyes turn cold and distant. Bane’s hand tighten to the point of pain on John’s hips, and John gets another glimpse into just how much Bane holds back when they’re together.

 

“I’m not afraid of pain. I’ve been hurt before for much less.” John watches Bane’s eyes trace the scar that bisects John’s left pectoral. The one he got from a broken beer bottle as a reward for a smart mouth and a combative attitude.

 

“You should not wish for the pain that I can deliver,” Bane tells him, the words quiet, but hard through the mask. “I could kill you.”

 

“You could,” John agrees. “But you won’t.”

 

“You think yourself essential to me, little bird?”

 

“Not essential, but useful.” John squeezes his thighs around Bane’s waist, pulling him closer until John’s lips brush against the mask. Bane jerks his head back as though the touch has shocked him. “A way to pass the time, surely.”

 

John presses his mouth to the mask, wondering at the bravery brought on by not being in control. The metal is cold, the tubes rough and unforgiving as his drags his lips across them. The mask is as much a part of Bane as the green in his eyes and the scars he won’t let John see, and John hungers for the sting of its kiss.

 

Bane turns his head away and there’s a flash of caution in his eyes before he closes them and leans into John. Bane’s thick neck is bared to John, and if he strains, he can latch onto the surprisingly soft skin in front of him. He sucks gently, wary of leaving a mark, but it doesn’t take long before the binding around his neck is cutting off his airflow and darkness crowds his vision.

 

“Eager little bird,” Bane murmurs, brushing his fingers over John’s bound throat. “You would risk damage to yourself for a taste of me?”

 

Bane’s hand moves to the back of John’s neck and the pressure is released. John gasps against Bane’s shoulder, mouthing at a particularly wide scar that crosses his trapezius.

“I’ve had worse, for less,” John repeats, his voice strained. “I want more.”

 

Bane’s chest vibrates and John realizes he’s laughing. 

 

“What a surprise you’ve turned out to be, Robin.” His wide palm slides down John’s chest, callouses catching on John’s sensitive skin as it makes its way down his body. There’s a wet spot on the satin where John’s dribbled and Bane swipes his thumb through the precome that’s leaking freely from the head of John’s cock. John’s mouth is already open and waiting when the thumb slides inside, and he groans at the salty-sharp taste of himself on Bane. 

 

He can never seem to get enough of Bane’s skin and he sucks hard, scraping his teeth over the knuckle. He still hasn’t been allowed near Bane’s cock with his mouth, but it’s what he thinks about most on the nights Bane doesn’t send for him. It’s embarrassing, and shameful that he wants to kneel at the feet of the man who had turned his entire world upside down, but John stopped making excuses for it after the first time. The rules no longer apply in occupied Gotham, and he’s just doing what he can to stay alive.

 

“So hungry for flesh, my little bird. You’d make an excellent bird of prey. Shall I bring you mice from the streets to hunt? Would you like that?”

 

John bites down harder on Bane’s thumb, glaring up at him.

 

Bane chuckles, his breath rasping through the mask. “I suppose not. Though, I admit I find merit in keeping you blinded and tethered to me, only letting you fly when I wish it.”

 

John whimpers, thrusting his hips in search of friction. Bane is holding him firmly with one hand curled under his ass and it’s enough to keep him from squirming effectively, but not enough to keep him from trying. Bane leans into him, pressing John against the post and removing his hand. The harsh edges of the wood are digging painfully into John’s back, but then Bane curls warm fingers around his cock, and he’s coming, arching into the curve of the body in front of him and groaning around the pressure on his tongue.

 

By the time John’s senses return Bane’s pants are open and he’s grinding into the junction of John’s thigh, the solid girth of Bane’s cock rubbing against John’s now flaccid one, spreading come between them. He’s over-sensitive and slumping, but he can’t tear his eyes away. He can’t really do anything to help with his hands still restrained, but he presses his face to Bane’s neck and mouths at the skin. Bane’s pulse point is throbbing and John licks over it gently before biting down. Bane grunts and then he’s striping John’s stomach and spent cock with thick ropes of hot come. 

 

When John is returned home later, still a little shaky, his arms flaring up with pins and needles, his wrists rubbed raw, he’ll think back to the shudder in Bane’s breath when he held him, just for a moment, before cutting the ropes away from his wrists. How he pressed the mask to the top of John’s hair, his raspy breath blowing John’s hair into further disarray, and he’ll wonder if maybe the man who lit the flame of Gotham has found something he doesn’t want to watch burn.

  
  



End file.
